The water droplets hit my window screen smoothly. If I didn't live all by myself in my little apartment in the corner of a Korean restaurant near the busiest bridge of the country, that would've been fine. No. I wouldn't be so narcissist I would talk about myself in the third person. 

                   They were in my head. I shook it off, thinking that I was still drunk from all those pints of Heineken and margaritas from the night before. As my day went by, I got busy with all the paperwork and all the annoying co-workers. The alcohol was obviously out of my system after all of that. 

                  You can imagine how very surprised I was when the same high pitched 14-year-old voice popped into my mind again saying, '''O-m-g, you are killing me with these old-ass songs.''' when I was listening to The Smiths' album I had downloaded a few days before. Why would I criticize my own song choices using this freaking annoying voice? Even my 14-year-old-self liked The Smiths. 

                     'It's a classic, not old-ass.' the deepest voice said in a 'shut-up-your-moron' tone. 

                     'And what does classic mean, Jack?' snapped the hoarse-voiced girl. 

                  He paused and heavily sighed. 'Anyway, you don't get to judge anyone's musical taste. You used to like Backstreet Boys back in the day. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just that it isn't like the lyrics are very deep or meaningful.' 

                      I giggled. At my own burn to my own mind.

                      And yes, I felt like I was going insane.

                The girls sounded like they were gathering all their energy to kill the guy verbally, starting with something like 'O-m-g, you just didn't.'

                      'Oh yeah, he DID IT..'

                       'You. Just. Did-'

And that was when I kind of.. screamed.

                   'FOR GOD'S SAKE,' - the voices shut silent - 'I gotta check myself into Psych. Seriously, brain? Backstreet Boys?' I thought. 'Jesus, I must have one of those multiple personalities disorders. Yeah. Thar makes sense. But would I know if I did? I would, wouldn't I? At least one of me would. I think. Fuck. What now? I'm gonna go into psych and they are gonna drug me and do a lobotomy in my brain like in those old horror movies and..'

                    'Oh, shut it.' the hoarse voice came back. 'You are about to hyperventilate. Just freaking breath. You are not crazy.'

                  'Nah, I'm just having thoughts that don't belong to me and having an argument during them because I'm sane. That sounds plausible.'

                     'Well done, girls. You just took away another chance of us moving on. For the thousandth time. Damnit.'                                                                                                                         

                   'I didn't do anything, Mrs. Defensor of Old Ass Songs.' the 14-year-old said. 'Everything would be fine if you hadn't insulted the Backstreet-'

              'You two, shut up. God. Now we are just gonna have to follow protocol and erase her memory.'

                   'WHAT?' I shouted. I started listing facts of my life in order to not go into a rage attack and break everything that existed inside my apartment. I don't know. It was something I saw on a tv show. 

1. My name is Germana Wolf. (I couldn't have a shitter name.)

2.I'm a twenty-three-year-old woman.

3. I'm 5'7'' tall.

4. I have a four-month boyfriend called Andre-

                'Are you seriously doing that? You know well that's bullshit. Try breaking those ugly moose themed plates your mom got you for Christmas. Honestly. who does that? And stop referring to me as the ''hoarse girl''. My name is Alison. '

                    I was extremely confused. You know when you had too many tequila shots and that brief moment before you puke your guts out, you have this shaken, squiggly sight of things and everything is rotating, and you just want to lie down and have some silence?

              It felt like that. Just about a 10 times worse, because there were three people arguing furiously on top of all. And oh, they were INSIDE MY HEAD.

                     I blacked out, though.

                Around 3 am, I woke up, had a shower, ate some leftover chicken - Not even I was thinking, I was just running in auto-pilot. I texted my boss - I hadn't taken any days off so far as I was saving up to go on a tour around Europe - just saying I couldn't be in tomorrow. 'I'm having the worst cramps of my life.', just because I knew Jerry would be fine with it and not want to talk about women's problems. He's not what you would call a 'people-person', yet he's very understanding.

                  Anyhow, ''Alison'' scared the crap out of me by saying something like 'Well, I guess you're better now' while I was brushing my teeth. I almost choked in toothpaste.

                    Uhm, yes, of course I was better. It wasn't like I was having conversations with fragments of imagination.

                    'Look. We are sorry. You are way more sensitive to us than the others were,' she continued. 'You are not crazy. We're leaving soon, and then you can get back to your mediocre life and-'

                         'Alison!' the only guy exclaimed. 'What she means is that is not for you to worry. You'll be fine.'

                            'I don't understand. The others? Leaving? ' I asked. They were talking in code to me, like when you talk around a gullible child.

                          'I'm afraid we can't say anything else.' the guy said. 

                          'Why not? I mean, it's not like she'll remember any of this anyway, Matt.' Alison said.

                          'We have a protocol to follow.'

                         'Fuck the protocol.' - it was the first thing the Backstreet Boy fan said since I woke up.

                       'Angie, (which was a pretty ironical name since she was that annoying) 'language.' Matt warned.

                    'I'm gonna tell her. What are you gonna do about it? Report me, to who? Kill me? WELL, TOO BAD YOU CAN'T SINCE I'M ALREADY DEAD.'

Oh, fuck.